


'Carpe Beer...'

by LokiDoki221



Category: X-Men (Movies), X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Charles is ridiculously patient, Cherik - Freeform, M/M, and romantic, drunk!erik, mentioned vomiting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-16
Updated: 2014-09-16
Packaged: 2018-02-17 16:05:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,588
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2315399
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LokiDoki221/pseuds/LokiDoki221
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After an alcohol-filled night out, Charles finds himself in the tricky position of getting a very drunk Erik Lehnsherr to bed...</p><p>~ Stupid domestic Cherik fluff. :p ~</p>
            </blockquote>





	'Carpe Beer...'

**Author's Note:**

> I woke up far too early yesterday morning and kind of just spouted this piece of foolishness, but I needed to get back to writing anyway, so it's not so bad. :p 
> 
> I hope you enjoy it, kudos or reviews are really, really appreciated, and I'm always willing to take prompts!
> 
> ~ J.D.

'You have too many teeth,' Erik giggles.

Charles sighs and keeps walking, Erik's arm slung over his shoulders and leaning heavily into his side. 'I'm sure I do,' he says patiently. He's completely sober, unlike his lover, who he is now dragging up the stupidly long driveway.

'Too many teeth.'

Erik's drunk-laugh is dangerously endearing. He giggles like a child and suddenly Charles forgets that in actual fact he's a six foot lump who probably weighs the same as a small car and can literally stop an ocean in its path if the mood takes him. In those moments when he laughs he's lightness and soft, early morning kisses and sunlight refracting in delicate patterns and-

Erik belches in his ear.

'I don't know why I put up with you,' Charles grimaces.

Erik hiccups happily. 'Pro'ly 'cause I'm the hottest piece of mutant you're ever gonna get.' He aims to plant a kiss on Charles' cheek, and ends up sort of licking his jaw line instead.

'Must be it,' Charles agrees, hiding his exasperation. They've made it to the house now. That's a good start. Charles calls out to see if anyone's home and still awake. Of course, there's no-one to help him. Oh no, not like he's half the size of the German oaf he's pulling his back out for, or that half his houseguests are all easily big enough to support Erik like he's just a fucking feather. Erik makes a snuffling noise, and rubs his nose against the top of Charles' head like an affectionate kitten. Even sober, Charles finds this rather sweet. It's the kind of thing Erik will only ever do in his most vulnerable moments, either drunk or apologetic or just after really great sex. It makes Charles think of the days when Erik brings him perfectly steeped tea and sweet French toast in bed and trails his fingers up and down Charles' skin in the most innocent way, just wanting to touch him, to remember every inch of him, to make sure Charles knows he loves him...

'You're a sweetheart really, aren't you?' Charles mutters, starting up the stairs.

'Bet I could burp y'name,' Erik replies, speech sloppy.

Charles has no idea where his romantic thoughts come from. He's not entirely convinced they're about the same man he knows now, the man who can drink ten beers, six whiskeys and God-only-knows what else without needing an ambulance. He half-drags Erik up the first half flight, listening to the mangled syllable of his name being mixed with drunken hiccups and whiskey burps. He pauses to catch his breath. This is ridiculous. Erik is making absolutely no effort to help him.

'Do you think that maybe you could stop that?' Charles asks, just the slightest hint of annoyance creeping into his tone as he shifts Erik over to his other side and gets a face-full of bitter alcohol breath.

'An'thing for you, baby,' Erik says, and the giggle's back.

Charles takes a second to think, and then he's sure: Erik has  _never_  called him 'baby' before. It's faintly disconcerting.

'Come on,' he coaxes gently. 'One foot in front of the other, there you go.'

On the landing, Charles pauses again. Erik is mumbling something Charles can't quite hear, and he strains his ears to listen.

'Carpe beer... seize the beer...' He looks earnestly towards Charles, eyes wild with the sudden clear thought. ''Member sayin' that?'

Charles sighs again. 'That wasn't me, you idiot,' he pants, 'it was Logan. Either way, you are never allowed to get this drunk again. Understand?'

Erik nods, and swallows back something thick that begins to rise up his throat.

Charles looks at Erik, and for the first time he's genuinely concerned. Erik is white as a sheet. 'Erik, are you alright?'

He doesn't see what's going to happen until it's too late, and by then Erik has thrown up on his shoes.

'For the love of _God!_ Damn you, Erik!' he hisses. He pinches the bridge of his nose and sighs. 'The bathroom is  _right there_.'

Erik spits. 'S'rry,' he mumbles, yawning. 'I'm tired, Charles.'

'Yeah? How do you think I feel?' Charles snaps.

'I feel better,' Erik says, nodding certainly.

Charles opens his mouth, and then closes it again. He takes a deep breath. It's not worth upsetting Erik and getting into one of their incomprehensible drunk arguments, not now, when he can so easily just dump him in bed with a bowl on the floor by his side just-in-case and clean everything up with minimal fuss. He toes off his ruined shoes carefully, and pulls Erik into the bedroom.

'Wait here,' he says, flopping him down onto the huge bed. It shouldn't need saying, but Charles is well acquainted with Erik's habit of drunk wandering, something he seems to manage even when he's so far gone he can barely keep his eyes open.

He goes into the en suite and takes the yellow Tupperware bowl from the cupboard under the sink, and then runs a flannel under the  cold tap. He puts the bowl on the floor, washes Erik's face, and dumps the flannel in the waste basket; not like there isn't more where that came from. Erik murmurs things he can't understand, and Charles strips him of his jacket and shoes and socks. He starts to undo Erik's belt, and Erik giggles again. It's different this time, not the sweet little child's laugh, but the dark, horny chuckle of a man who thinks that maybe he's about to get laid.

'No,' Charles says firmly, as Erik reaches to meet his hands. 'Men who smell like wet dog and puke don't get sex.' Erik gnashes his teeth playfully. 'Bad Erik,' he says, whipping Erik teasingly with one of his socks. His face softens as Erik yawns the most honest and tired of yawns, and blinks hard to keep his eyes open.

He pulls away Erik's jeans and leaves him in his underwear and t-shirt. Erik has closed his eyes, but he murmurs something as Charles goes to leave.

'Don't worry,' he promises. 'I'm coming back.'

'Where you goin'?' Erik grunts.

'To clean up the mess you made and throw away my favourite shoes.'

'Why? Wh't shoes?'

'My brown shoes. My brogues. The shoes you just threw up on.'

'Not your fav'rites,' Erik  mumbles. 'Black ones your fav'rites.'

Charles can't help smiling, because Erik's right, of course. Even this drunk he knows Charles' favourite shoes. Charles doesn't even recall ever mentioning it, but Erik notices these things. That's what makes him so perfect. Apart from the throwing up on the carpet and shoes thing, obviously.

In the utility room he finds a cloth and fills a bucket with soapy water. It's with gritted teeth that he cleans up after his lover and dumps his brogues in the bin. It's times like this when he realises why his mother had liked servants so much. He's not quite sure what to do with the bucket when he's done, and settles on just leaving everything outside the back door. He can worry about it in the morning. He washes his hands and yawns. Erik's snoring heavily when he returns to their room. Charles smiles ruefully and strips naked, unaware that the snores have stopped. Erik giggles sleepily as he turns around.

Charles sighs. 'Really? Eight months we've shared a bed, and now you're laughing because I'm naked?'

Erik blinks hard several times, still fighting for consciousness. 'Thirsty,' he mutters.

Charles rolls his eyes, but slips on the flannel robe Erik says makes him look like an old man, and willingly plods his way back down stairs and into the kitchen. He fills a large glass with water, and finds a straw. Erik grins appreciatively when he returns, and reaches a disoriented hand towards the split in the robe.

'No,' Charles scolds lightly, swatting at Erik's roaming fingers. He holds the glass towards his sleepy lover. 'You want a drink?'

Erik nods, and Charles helps him get the straw between his lips and sip the water without spilling it all over himself. Erik pulls his head away, and Charles kisses him chastely on the lips, then half-gags.

'Dear God, I love you Erik, but right now your breath could wipe out a small continent!'

Erik hums happily, and doesn't seem to notice Charles' disgust. 'Love y'too,' he slurs truthfully, rolling over onto his side.

Charles runs a hand through the short hair of the man beside him. 'I know,' he assures. 

He shuffles closer to Erik, and wraps himself around the larger man's body so they're spooning, albeit a little oddly. Charles doesn't mind. He pushes his face into the nape of Erik's neck, and breathes in the smells of sweat and alcohol and fading cologne. Even on nights like this when Erik is bleary and bratty and annoying Charles loves him more than he's ever loved anyone or anything in his life. He slides his arms around Erik's neck and shoulders, holding him close, protecting him from anything that might dare try to hurt them. Erik stinks and the sheets need changing, the room's a mess and the bathroom needs a serious clean, he needs to brush his teeth and all too soon there'll be work he has no choice but to do, his arm gets pins and needles and several hours later he receives a sharp jab in the groin from Erik's foot, but still, taking all that and more into account, Charles wouldn't change it for the world.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!


End file.
